


biding times

by whittler_of_words



Series: Antebellum [5]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Earthquakes, Flashbacks, Homeschool, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Reader Is Frisk, Selectively Mute Frisk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 15:05:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6709780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whittler_of_words/pseuds/whittler_of_words
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The door opens to Toriel’s soft, smiling face, a pair of glasses on her nose. “It’s you!” she says, somehow managing to make the exclamation sound delighted instead of an accusation. “Please, do come in. I’ve just started today’s lesson.”</p>
<p>Chara doesn’t look up from the book in their hands when you sit in the only open seat at the table, so you pretend to not notice them either. Toriel smiles wide enough for both of you anyway, something like a gleam in her eye as she clasps her hands in front of her.</p>
<p>“Let’s get started, shall we?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	biding times

**Author's Note:**

> alternate summary: it's frisk-chan's first day at school~!
> 
> specific warnings for this work include food-related anxiety and a panic attack, mostly isolated towards the end !

“pencils?”

_Check._

“notebooks?”

_Check._

“uh, lemme think-- markers?”

_Yep!_

“whoopie cushion?”

_Sans! This is serious!_ You zip up your backpack with a jerk ( _your_ backpack, brand new and shiny with obnoxiously glittery multicolored stars set under clear plastic that feels really nice to rub with your fingers) and sniff, hefting it over your shoulder as you look down your nose at the skeleton before you. His smile turns nervous. You let him stew in it for a couple more seconds until you can’t stop your hands from fluttering the signs any longer. _I have three._

He barks a laugh. “ok, good, glad to know you’re headin’ out prepared. better safe than sorry, right?” He shakes his head, chuckling to himself a little. “so whaddya think? sounds like you’ve got all the essentials to me. you ready?”

There are about twenty different things you can say to that. You settle for propping a hand on your hip and nodding vigorously enough for your hair to slap your cheeks. It stings a little, but it’s kind of a nice feeling, and it makes Sans laugh again either way. He laughs a lot, you’ve come to realize in the past couple of weeks. He doesn’t always mean it though, and you relish every genuine sound you can get out of him. Ha, relish. You’ll have to remember that one next time you have ‘dogs for dinner.

“i dunno, you don’t seem very sure to me, frisk. might have to run that by me again.” He doesn’t give you the chance, though, squinting a little as he pats your hair down and back into place, and you make a face at him. You don’t shake him off, though.

You have to look presentable for your first day of school, after all!

“ok,” he says, _finally,_ “let’s not keep ‘em waiting any longer, shall we?”

You’re so excited you’re bouncing on your heels all the way out the door, Sans following at his usual sedate pace. You’re nearly all the way down the street before you double back to rejoin him. Restlessness bites at your heels, and you really, _really_ want to run ahead, all the way across the monster town to get to where you need to be, but you don’t trust yourself to not get lost here yet, and also it’d be kind of rude.

The early-afternoon sun feels nice on your skin, radiating warmth all over. You lean your face back as you walk, lidding your eyes, basking in it; it feels _good_ to be outside like this. The pencils in their case rattle where they’re nestled inside your backpack, a rhythmic _clink-clink_ that keeps clinking with every step. It’s a happy sound, you think. There’s an impatience coiling in your belly, tight and sharp and sparking with an excitement you don’t know what to do with. Not nervousness. Not at all.

It’s just _school_...

Well.

Maybe you’re a little nervous.

There’s so much about monsters you still don’t know yet. Their food is different, their manners are different-- heck, even their medicine is different. Is the way they do school different, too? Maybe. If you’re lucky. They won’t do gym.

...Okay, that’s just wishful thinking. It doesn’t change the fact that you still don’t know what to expect. Like, at all. You tighten your grip around the straps of your backpack, biting back the familiar pang of uncertainty. You’ll just have to be careful. It’s not like you have the best frame of reference, but as long as you work hard and don’t mess up, it should be fine, right? As if you have the best track record with the last part, anyway.

But that’s unimportant! This is a fresh start, isn’t it? You think you’ve done a pretty good job so far.

This was bound to happen eventually either way, you think. Most adults seem to believe school is a Really Important Thing, and you weren’t really surprised when Sans finally came to you saying Toriel thought it might be time to start up your education here, if you were ready. Even just thinking about it is enough to make the same butterflies you’d felt then flutter in your stomach. It’s just...

There’s a sense of finality about it. Like you’re staying. Like they’re _expecting_ you to stay. You don’t offer to teach a kid who isn’t gonna be here next week, right? That’d just be a waste. There are so many little implications tied up there that it’d make you dizzy if you let yourself think about it too much. It already has before. It’s kind of dumb, really, but you can’t help it.

Or you’re just reading into things a little too much.

You’re jolted out of your thoughts when you nearly run into Sans. You blink at him, unsure why he stopped, but you look up and-- oh. You’re here already.

“welp, here we are,” Sans says, a little belatedly. “do you want me to come in with you, or are ya too cool for that?”

Shaking your head, you release one of the straps from your death-grip and sign, _I’ll go in. You go take a nap or whatever, OK?_ You offer him one last thumbs up, turning back to the large building in front of you. The castle has yet to fail to amaze you with its size and architecture, and you can’t help but feel a little intimidated as you go to take a step forward.

“frisk,” he says, stopping you. He winks when you turn to him, his trademark reassurance. “text me if you need anything, k? you’re gonna do great.”

You know you don’t tend to smile very much. When you do, it’s almost never big; you always feel like the expression takes up too much space, just like the rest of you, and over time you’ve had so much practice keeping every bit of you as small as possible that it’s become a force of habit you don’t know how to break. So you don’t try. You step into his space instead, wrapping your arms around him in a hug, and you feel him pause briefly before he chuckles and hugs you back, if a little awkwardly. That’s okay.

_See you later,_ you say when you step back after the moment’s passed. 

“will do, kid,” he says. “don’t have too much fun without me.”

Feeling much more confident than before (which isn’t much, but still), you nod, and step inside.

The entry room is empty, and so is the living room when you peek into it, but you still remember the directions Toriel gave you, and you run them over in your mind as you turn back to the eastern hallway. Down the hall, to the left, first door on the...right? Right. You mean-- right. The first door you come across is closed when you get to it, and you hesitate, wondering; do you just... open it? Seems a bit forward.

Toriel’s muffled voice carries from the other side of the door, and you steel yourself before giving it two soft knocks.

You only have a few seconds to shift on your feet before the door opens to Toriel’s soft, smiling face, a pair of glasses on her nose. “It’s you!” she says, somehow managing to make the exclamation sound delighted instead of an accusation. “Please, do come in. I’ve just started today’s lesson.”

The room you follow her into isn’t the biggest you’ve seen. Rows of bookcases filled with, well, books, are lined up against one wall though, with a whiteboard almost intimidating in its size set up against the other. Most of your attention is caught by the half of the room closest to the bookshelves; the floor there is carpeted with something that looks like it’d be _really_ fun to rub between your toes, and there are more than a few bean bag chairs of various colors scattered across it. The sight makes you pause before you can stop yourself.

You don’t get it. Isn’t this supposed to be like school?

Chara doesn’t look up from the book in their hands when you sit in the only open seat at the table, so you pretend to not notice them either. Toriel smiles wide enough for both of you anyway, something like a gleam in her eye as she clasps her hands in front of her.

“Let’s get started, shall we?”

///

“Getting started” involves a lot of paper, it turns out. Toriel gives you something called a “syllabus”, which she tells you is just a rundown of how she teaches and the way her classroom works, and she spends a good fifteen minutes going over it with you and making sure you understand everything. She always seems to know when she needs to stop and explain something in a different way, which is good, because you probably wouldn’t admit you were confused if she actually asked. Once she’s satisfied, she passes you a packet which she says is “Homework for Sans,” winking at you as you tuck it into your backpack. 

“Every day will be devoted to a different subject. Today is an English day,” she says once the tide of paperwork has come to an end, “so you’ll be reading until lunch. Feel free to pick whatever book you’d like.”

Suddenly, the bookshelves become a lot more intimidating.

It takes you a minute, mostly because the books don’t seem to be organized in any particular way that you can see. You’ve always seen them set up by difficulty level, but then you find a children’s rhyming book tucked next to a text on “Metaphysics and Epistemology” that’s bigger than your head, and you realize it probably doesn’t work that way here.

Eventually, you just pick one that doesn’t seem too difficult before Toriel can get impatient with you for taking too long. She smiles when you show her, and tells you to settle down and read wherever you like.

Chara’s still sitting in the same spot where they were when you first came in. They haven’t looked up once (that you’ve seen, at least) and already you can tell that they’re almost halfway through the book that they chose. They must read really fast.

You _could_ sit with Chara. Then again, considering how they feel about you...

You ditch Chara for the bean bags.

Turns out, the bean bags are a little too squishy for you to sit on comfortably, so you settle for lying stomach-down on the carpet instead. You were right though; it _is_ nice to run your fingers over while you read. Toriel said you were welcome to mark up the book however you wanted, but the thought of coloring the pages with something as permanent as marker makes your stomach roll, so you use pencil instead, softly underlining phrases you think are cool and words you don’t understand to ask Sans about later. 

(You know you should probably be going to Toriel about it. She’s the teacher, and she even _said_ to ask her for help if you need it, but... you’re underlining a lot of words, you realize. You can’t keep bothering her every two seconds just because you don’t know what “amicable” means.)

You know you’re already bothering a lot of people just by being here. Sans wouldn’t have to sleep on the couch every night if you weren’t taking up his room. Being the Queen, Toriel has to be busy enough already without taking on another student. So, you refuse to make an even bigger burden of yourself, even if everyone seems to genuinely want you around.

Well. Most everyone, at least.

You’re only a dozen or so pages into the book when Toriel dismisses you for lunch, but you still can’t help but feel a little proud of yourself. She says you can go wherever you want as long as you’re back in time, so you wander outside to eat in the garden. It’s pretty, and warm, and smells like spring, and you hum softly to yourself as you take out the sandwich Papyrus helped you pack last night.

Even though you can’t stop the surprise bubbling up in your chest at the sound of footsteps coming up behind you, you don’t turn around. You pat the grass next to you instead. 

Chara doesn’t sit, but they don’t make a point to keep their distance either.

“Hey,” they start. “So.” They’re not looking at you when you blink up at them. “Sorry for, like, clocking you in the face or whatever last time. You didn’t deserve that.”

Oh. You don’t know what you thought they’d say, but that definitely wasn’t it. You nod, though, and are glad when they look down once you start signing, because at least it means they’re interested in what you have to say. _It’s OK,_ you shrug. _I’ve had worse._

They raise an eyebrow at that. “Generally, that’s not something deemed socially acceptable to brag about.”

What? _I wasn’t bragging!_

“Then was it supposed to be an insult?”

You stick your tongue out at them for that, which you don’t think they were expecting, because they snort; it’s a painfully awkward sound, and you wonder what it means that you kind of want to hear it again. You get the feeling Chara isn’t a person who actually laughs very often.

“Okay, good. For a second I thought I’d have to punch you again to restore my honor,” they say, which nearly gets a smile out of you, but they’re not looking at you anymore so you decide not to bother. 

For a minute, the only sound is the birds chirping somewhere in the trees; maybe it’s companionable silence time now. You take a bite of your sandwich. It’s a really good sandwich.

If you’re being honest, you’re not really sure why they’re apologizing to you. You might not have meant to stay for so long once you got here, but that doesn’t change the fact that you _did;_ that Chara ran away because of _you_ ; that Chara wanted to kill themself because of you; that you took up all of their best friend’s time and nearly ruined their relationship because you were too selfish to read between the lines. And, really? Chara had every right to be mad at you. If you’re being honest, they still do.

You don’t belong here. 

“What you told me before,” they start, jerking you out of your sandwich reverie. “About going to the mountain. Were you telling the truth?”

Oh.

It’s your turn to not look at them, even though you can feel their eyes on you now. You’d say it’s just because the flowers are _really_ interesting if you weren’t so bad at lying to yourself. Swallowing past the sudden lump in your throat, you’re glad, not for the first time, that no one here has ever expected you to speak. You nod.

“Good,” they say, apparently satisfied, and you can’t actually stop yourself from looking at them this time. “I was wondering if maybe you were lying to try and make me think we had something in common, but I’m glad that’s not the case. Not that I have to believe you anyway,” they point out, which is fair, “but you don’t particularly strike me as the type of person who would enjoy that kind of attention.”

You...have no idea what that’s supposed to mean, but it doesn’t _sound_ wrong. You just nod again.

“That said...” They scratch behind their neck, shrugging. “I promise I won’t tell anyone. I mean, it’s not really any of my business anyway.”

Relief washes over you at that. You hadn’t really expected them to do so in the first place, but hearing them actually say it is different from just hoping really hard. You wonder if they can tell how grateful you are. _Thank you._

“Whatever,” they say, emotionally honest hour apparently over. You can appreciate the sentiment.

You’re expecting them to start ignoring you again once you get back in the classroom. You almost miss it when they glance at you, and then the empty chair next to theirs at the table, but you don’t, and you like to think you’re good at taking hints. Pretending not to see the pleased glint in Toriel’s eye, you move your chair closer to theirs.

You’re not sure what it says about Chara that confirming both of you came here to end your lives is their idea of a Genuine Bonding Moment, but it does make you feel a little better too, so.

Maybe you do have something in common after all.

///

Papyrus insists on making pasta for dinner to celebrate your first day of school, and you tell him and Sans both all about your day over a noodle whose name you can’t spell. You tell them about the book you picked out. You tell them how you’re supposed to do a book report on it, which is exciting, because you’ve never done one before and they seem fun. You tell them that you think Chara is finally starting to warm up to you.

(You don’t tell them why, but it’s not like it’s super important, so you figure it’s okay.)

Bedtime comes and goes, but you don’t go to sleep right away; knees pulled up close to your chest, you take a while just staring at the wall as the night-light splays colors against its surface.

It’s not bad that you feel guilty, is it?

Sans is at the kitchen table where he always is when you come down after the night’s usual bad dream. The hot chocolate is still warm. There’s sprinkles in it this time, though, and while neither of you speak, the occasional shuffle of paperwork as he writes keeps the midnight silence from becoming oppressive. 

Oppressive; weighing heavily on the mind or spirits. You learned that one today.

Smells like spice.

///

The sound of footsteps coming up the hall heralds Asriel’s arrival, but you don’t look up until the door’s already opened. “Frisk!” He stops, eyebrows so high you kind of have to wonder if that’s actually physically possible. Then again, you’ve seen weirder. “You’re still here!”

_Toriel said I could stay for dinner,_ you explain. _Surprise!_

“Are the skeletons gonna come over too?” he asks, but he’s interrupted by a snort from the other side of the room.

“God, I hope not,” Chara says, not looking up from the book in their lap until you wave your hand for their attention.

_You’re just saying that ‘cause you’re afraid Sans will out-pun you._

“I am _not,_ ” Chara scoffs.

_You totally are!_ you say, biting your tongue to keep yourself from laughing. _Look, you’re actually offended!_

“I’m gonna kick your ass,” they say, but then they bury their nose in their book again, so you know it’s fine. 

Asriel has a strange look on his face when you glance back to him, but it’s gone before you can comment on it. “What’re you guys reading?” he asks, dumping his backpack at the foot of the bed Chara is sitting on. You’re about to raise your hands when they make a noise in the back of their throat, and you shove them back into your lap before either of them can notice.

“School stuff.” They turn a page as if to emphasize their words. “Don’t you have homework to do?”

He sits heavily on the bed (well, his bed, technically), making it bounce, and Chara shoves at him lightly as he settles next to them. “I finished mine in class,” he says, not a little smugly. “We just had some math problems to do, so it wasn’t that hard.”

“You disgust me.”

“I’ve already offered to help you with your math homework, like, a million times,” he points out, and you don’t miss the way their fingers indent the soft cover of the book.

“And as I’ve told you a million times, I don’t need your help.” They sniff, turning the page again. You’re starting to think they don’t actually read that fast and they’re just doing it to make a point. “I’ll figure it out just fine on my own.”

“Oh my god, will you stop being so stubborn already?”

“No,” Chara says, and pushes him off the bed.

 

 

If there’s one thing you don’t think you’ll ever get used to in Ebott, it’s the food.

And not in the sense that it’s weird (it’s kind of weird) or gross (maybe just a little, sometimes) or leaves the same, not unpleasant aftertaste on your tongue no matter what it is you’re eating. It doesn’t even have anything to do with the way it never makes you feel sick no matter how much you eat, or never seems to spoil. Not really, anyway.

There’s just so _much_ of it.

Reminding yourself that Toriel will probably get upset if you _don’t_ put food on your plate, you make an effort to fill your bowl with an acceptable amount of soup. You know, objectively, that there’s more than enough for everyone. That doesn’t make it any easier.

“I received a letter from Gerson today,” Asgore says, pausing to butter some bread. “He said that he should be arriving within a week’s time. And, erm, something about making sure the young’ns had some room on their shelves...?”

Asriel nearly drops his spoon into his bowl as he turns to Chara. Someone’s excited. “Oh, gosh! What do you think he’s gonna have for us this time?”

Chara ponders their soup carefully. “A machete,” they say.

“Chara, no.”

“ _Two_ machetes.”

“Mom would never let us keep those!”

“Then I have no idea,” they admit, shoving their spoon in their mouth and speaking with their mouth full. “Something cool, probably. He always has cool stuff.”

“Gerson is an old friend of mine,” Asgore explains, a sympathetic look in his eye, and you breathe in the relief of not having to ask. “He spends much of his time these days travelling and selling wares. He doesn’t visit very often, but he’s always willing to share a story or two with anyone who will listen.”

“And they’re not even boring,” Chara adds. “Some of ‘em sound like bullshit though.”

“He does have a tendency for theatrics,” Toriel allows. “But as far as I know, he has only ever told the truth, however stretched.”

Asriel gives her an incredulous look. “Even the one with the orange peels?”

“Even the one with the orange peels,” she says grimly.

Taking a bite of the soup, you let their voices fade with the crackling of the fire in the fireplace, focusing only dimly on the conversation going on in front of you. You don’t really have anything interesting to contribute, and you’re more content to listen anyway. Maybe this Gerson monster will be willing to tell you a story when he gets here. One of his nice ones. Asgore said he travels; what’s the farthest he’s been? Maybe, if you’re lucky, he can give you an idea of what else is out there; what the color of the sky looks like when the sun is setting on another part of the world. Is it the same?

“Do you hear that?” Chara asks some time later, breaking you out of your thoughts as everyone else falls silence in response, and-- is someone hauling trash cans across the street?

You’re not expecting the entire world to fall apart.

Suddenly the ground is rocking under your feet, nearly throwing you out of your chair, and everything is moving so fast you only have time to register the sound of the earth roaring around you and the lights flickering before Toriel’s voice booms “Under the table, children!” You don’t have to be asked twice. You dive underneath just in time to hear something shatter.

Seconds, minutes; you don’t know how long you spend clutching the table leg, eyes squeezed shut, but when it finally stops, you can hear someone whimpering under the table next to you. You can’t tell who. For several moments, there’s only silence punctuated by heavy, shaky breath.

When you open your eyes, you’re back in the closet again.

“Is everyone alright?” Toriel calls from somewhere above you, a slight waver the only unsteady note in her voice. “Children?”

“We- we’re okay,” Asriel breathes, breaking the short silence.

“I will check outside for the others,” Asgore says, his footsteps retreating to the front hall. He calls out as he recedes, voice muffled. Chara murmurs something sounding oddly like reassurance, too low to hear clearly, but Asriel makes a soft noise in return.

You can’t see. The door is locked.

“The power has gone out,” Toriel says, and your grip on the table leg tightens enough you can feel your fingernails digging into the grain of the wood. You learned to stop being afraid of the dark a long time ago, but this is heavy, suffocating you, and no matter how much you tell yourself not to it’s hard to not be afraid when there’s two inches of wood you’re not strong enough to break between you and the rest of the world. The dark is endless. You can’t move.

Oppressive; causing depression or discomfort.

You need out.

“I think it’s over. You can come out now,” Toriel beckons, and there’s the sound of shuffling next to you.

“Fuck, this is a mess,” Chara mutters, voice coming from much higher than before.

“Easily cleaned, easily replaced.” Toriel’s voice is matter of fact, but nonetheless soothing for it. “Are you sure you are not hurt?”

“Fine,” Chara says shortly. “Asriel’s just being a crybaby again.”

“Shut up,” he mumbles.

“Oh, where are they. Frisk?” The concern that had been retreating from Toriel’s voice returns in full, and it grows louder as she approaches your side of the table. “Dear, are you--”

All you see is her leaning down to you quickly before something bright flares to life in her hands, like a miniature sun -- the comparison would be tired if it weren’t so true, and you’re forced to squeeze your eyes shut, blinded, defenceless, fear rising up white and hot in your throat, no, no, you _won’t--_

Toriel cries out as your boot connects to her face with a solid kick, and the light behind your eyelids disappears; your eyes are watering, but whether it’s from being blinded or the sudden regret making you taste something too close to bile, you can’t tell. You meant it. You didn’t mean it. You can’t even tell her you’re sorry.

“Mom?!” someone cries, only to be shushed by her immediately.

“It’s alright, I’m alright,” she says, and then to you, softly, “I’m sorry. I was so worried I didn’t think I might startle you. Is there anything I can do to help?”

This isn’t fair. You can’t even see her, but you can just tell what expression she’s wearing; the way her eyes soften, the slight upturn of her brow, the gentle concern etched into her features. How can she be so kind to someone who just kicked her in the face? Is there something wrong with her, or is it your fault for not getting it?

You’re breathing, hard. There are noises wheezing up from your chest you can’t control every time you exhale, and your arms are locked around the table leg; you couldn’t move them if you tried. She’s waiting for an answer, and you don’t deserve your silence anymore, so you swallow and grit out, “Dark.”

Footsteps approach rapidly from outside. They’re too light and quick for Asgore, and you hear Chara mutter “Oh, great,” under their breath.

“welp, good to see this place is still standing, at least.”

“I will re-light the fireplace,” Toriel tells you, and her clothes ruffle as she stands from her crouch.

“where’s--” Sans starts, but someone must cut him off, because he stops mid-sentence to take Toriel’s place in front of you. You can’t see him either. You can hear him breathing.

“what’s up, buddy?” he asks, sounding for all the world like it’s just another day back from school.

“Dark,” you repeat, more desperately.

“yeah,” he says, not missing a beat. “power’s out all across town. the docs are workin’ on it as we speak. the stars are real pretty though.”

A soft glow emanates from the direction of the fireplace. It’s barely anything from your position under the table, but suddenly the rest of the world exists again, and it’s enough.

Sans grins at you. “hey, there we are. lucky we got a living candle handy, huh?”

“I should have several non-living ones around here somewhere,” Toriel says. “Will you two help me look for them?”

“Sure,” Chara says, Asriel echoing them, and their legs cast almost non-existent shadows as they walk past. Their footsteps recede into silence.

“you afraid of the dark?” 

Sans’ tone is neutral, but you still find yourself hesitating before you shake your head. “C-cant-- can’t see,” you say, voice cracking. Your tongue is already too heavy in your mouth, but you can say this much, at least. “Dark.”

He pauses. “can you see now, though?”

That’s easy. You nod, and you wonder what he’s thinking about with his eyes all squinted up like that.

“k, next question,” he says, his gaze turning serious. You wait. “d’you think tori would mind if i took some soup before i left?”

You laugh a little, despite yourself, and so does he. You can feel your panic dissipating slowly but surely like a weight lifting off your shoulders, and you wince slightly as you relax your death grip on the table; you were holding on a lot tighter than you thought. You hope you didn’t hurt it.

“hate to be a liar, but this is the last one for real this time,” he says, waiting for you to nod until he continues. “like i said, power’s out across town, meaning our place is out too, and with things bein’ in a ruckus, there probably won’t be anyone to stay with you. the way i figure it, there’s two ways to go about this. one,” he says, ticking off a finger, “you can stay here with tori and the kids until pap or i are done helpin’ out and can take you home. or, two,” he says, ticking off the second, “i can take you home now and stay with you ‘til things settle down.” He puts his hand down, shrugging. “it’s your call. but uh, the quicker you decide, the better.”

You think about it for a moment. If you’re being truthful, there’s really nothing you want more than to go back to his house, hide under the bed, and watch the night light turn the walls various shades of illuminated contentment. There’s something tell you: that’s selfish, though. You remind yourself, fiercely, that you’re just one person. There are so many more Sans could help by being out there instead of stuck inside with you.

_Would Toriel mind?_ you ask, and he doesn’t have to ask what you mean.

“who, tori? she would love to have you over no matter the circumstances. trust me, i’ll talk to her and make sure it’s okay.” He looks at you one-eyed. “you sure this is what you want?”

You nod. At the very least, he trusts you enough to not second-guess you after that.

By the time the other three return, you’re out from under the table and standing with Sans by the doorway. The town is so dark you can hardly tell the houses apart from one another, but the wind blowing in smells like grass and rain and _outside_. It’s enough.

Toriel agrees to let you spend the night without a second thought. She and Sans exchange a look before he leaves. You remind yourself it’s none of your business, but are still curious about it anyway.

Asriel gives you a candle that lasts until you fall asleep.

///

It takes long enough to get Chara’s attention that you almost give up, but they notice you at the last second, turning to face you, and you square your shoulders.

_Are you mad at me?_ You ask, glancing between them and Asriel, who gains a look of brief surprise on his face at the question. Chara’s doesn’t change. _Both of you._

“For what?” Chara asks, and you resist the urge to screw up your nose.

_Last night. Kicking your mom in the face._

“Oh,” Asriel says, “well, it was an accident, wasn’t it? Or, you feel bad about it, at least. I’m not mad at you at all!”

Chara takes a moment longer to answer. You fidget with the grass under your hands, resisting the urge to pull it up by the roots. The royal garden didn’t get the memo from the rest of the town, it seems, and has carried on as if the earthquake never happened.

You’ve been expecting someone to get impatient with you all day. To yell at you for last night, or get frustrated with your silence and ask why you’re faking not being able to talk when you obviously can, they heard you, they heard it. It hasn’t happened yet.

“You’re not perfect,” they say finally, and it’s your turn to blink at that.

_What?_

“You’re not perfect,” they repeat confidently, ignoring the confused looks both you and Asriel are giving them. “You always act so... _nice,_ ” they continue, grimacing like the word is sour to taste. “All I’ve seen you, all I’ve heard of you, you’re always, you know, being good, and calm, and...nice. Like you’re faking it,” they finish. Your hands freeze in the dirt. Either they don’t notice, or they ignore it. “But in the end you’re just as capable of lashing out as the rest of us. So, you’re not perfect. It makes it easier to like you.”

Huh. That’s... You guess you can see where they’re coming from with that. Even if they did strike a little close to home. You contemplate it for a moment, squinting at the flowers.

“...You are so weird,” Asriel says.

Chara throws a fistful of grass at his face. “Fight me,” they grin, laughing as he splutters.

_Wait,_ you say, _that doesn’t answer my question, though._

“Oh. Well, not really.” They shrug. “Though that’d probably be different if she’d actually gotten hurt.”

_That’s fair,_ you admit. You can’t ignore the relief flooding your bones, though, making you feel feather-light. Either of them could be lying, of course. But it’s nice to think otherwise in the meanwhile.

“Loser,” Chara says, and suddenly you have a fistful of grass hitting you in the face, making you flail back.

“Chara!” Asriel says, but you can hear the badly muffled laughter in his voice. 

“What! It’s not like it’s-- oh. Oh my god,” they say, and you grin, despite yourself. “Are you _eating the--_ ”

_Eat your greens,_ you sign. You can’t see their faces while you’re lying on your back, but Asriel bursts into full-throated laughter that makes you think: this was worth it.

“That’s so fucking gross,” Chara says, but then they’re laughing too, and you can’t help but join them.


End file.
